


wanna love out loud but i'm scared to say

by rathalos



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: F/F, First Date, Fluff, Post-Canon, literally not relevant or even mentioned but she's trans! she's trans!!!!, maybe 3 or 4 years later, trans girl chrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:48:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26397409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rathalos/pseuds/rathalos
Summary: M.M. rings the doorbell of Chrome’s apartment at exactly half past three.
Relationships: Chrome Dokuro/M.M.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	wanna love out loud but i'm scared to say

**Author's Note:**

  * For [basedkhr (basedfran)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/basedfran/gifts).



> also for KB because all your takes about chrome are amazing and make me want to write her sm. youre right, internalized misogyny is dead. girlfriends!!!
> 
> the chrome/mm loop never stops.......
> 
> fic title from [In My Head](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aZ5gkJDmZv4) by Galantis

M.M. rings the doorbell of Chrome’s apartment at exactly half past three.

There’s no time for her to get nervous, no time for the lone butterfly in her stomach to worry away at her, to turn into a flock of birds—wings beating over and over, feathers brushing against her lungs—Chrome opens the door not five seconds later, smiling at M.M. in a way that only fuels the disbelieving, dream-like happiness she’s felt all morning.

“Hey, Em,” Chrome says softly, one hand braced against the doorframe. She’s smiling. M.M.’s knees feel shaky from anticipation. “Just on time.”

“Hi,” M.M. says, trying not to let her giddiness show on her face. “You look good.”

She isn’t wearing anything fancy; just a grey t-shirt and a pair of black shorts. In contrast to M.M.’s billowy blouse and ruffled skirt, Chrome’s outfit is nothing special, but the sight of her standing there is still enough to invoke horrible, warm, mushy feelings inside M.M.

“ . . . Really good,” she amends.

It’s not in her nature to give praise; ordinarily M.M. would the one who to receive it. She loves the feeling of all eyes on her, watching her every move, awe and attention centered solely on her. Everyone else is so far beneath her notice; there’s no reason to pay them any mind.

Somehow, though, when she’s with Chrome, everything’s different. She doesn’t know how can people look at _her_ when Chrome is right there. It can be annoying at times—after all, M.M. can’t stand second place—but then again, mostly she’s too wrapped up in Chrome’s presence to hold any sort of objection.

Chrome flushes a soft pink, eyes drifting towards the floor as she lowers her head. “You, um—you too. But you always look good, so . . . ”

Oh, she’s going to combust on the spot.

“Are you ready to go?” M.M. asks, hoping she doesn’t look as pleased as she feels. Keep cool. Stay calm. “I don’t mind waiting a little longer.”

“No, it’s okay,” Chrome says. She steps over the threshold of the apartment and into the hallway, glancing behind her into the empty living room before closing and locking the door. “I . . . sent Fran over to the boss’s house for today. I didn’t want him to be lonely.”

“I’m sure he’d have been fine by himself,” M.M. says, trying for flippant but accidentally achieving anxious. “Let’s go.”

Chrome beams at her. “Let’s.”

She seems happy to follow M.M’s lead down the stairs of the apartment building, lagging a few paces behind her rather than by her side.

That’s . . . that’s not right, is it?

Should M.M. look back? Tell Chrome it’d be better to walk next to each other? Probably. She tangles her fingers in the hem of her skirt, taking a deep breath to calm herself down.

“Chrome,” she says, carefully keeping her voice level, “I’m going to leave you behind if you don’t catch up with me.”

“Oh!” Chrome exclaims softly, hurrying to draw up to M.M.’s side. “Sorry, I—I was a little lost in thought.”

“It’s fine,” M.M. says, shrugging, casting a half-second glance over at Chrome. A small smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. “Keep up from now on.”

*

(They’re hanging out together at Kokuyo Land because Mukuro’s out of town and M.M. has nothing better to do. M.M. is sprawled across one of the couches they’d bought and Chrome is steadily slogging her way through an impressive pile of homework.

It’s quiet.

Chrome sets her pencil down, running a hand through her hair—pushing it up off her forehead, one finger snagging in the string of her eyepatch, and M.M. blurts something along the lines of, “Do you want to go to out somewhere? I’m free on Wednesday.”

And Chrome, reaching up to adjust her eyepatch, expression of perfect surprise on her face, says, “That sounds lovely. Where to?”

M.M. hadn’t thought she’d even _get_ this far, having asked Chrome out on sheer impulse alone and already regretting it because why why _why—_ she suggests the first thing she can think of, which happens to be, “Cat . . . uh, cat cafe.”

“Oh . . . Mukuro-sama mentioned something like that a couple of days ago. Didn’t one open nearby recently?” Chrome asks, though it’s more of a mumble than anything. “I’d like to go with you.”

Without processing the fact it had been _Mukuro,_ lord of “don’t come near me, I’m big and scary and full of evil,” who had told Chrome about the cat cafe, M.M. finds herself nodding.

“Then it’s a date,” she says, trying to project confidence—and because she always forgets to watch her words around Chrome, she stumbles on “date,” and then she feels herself burning up from the sheer embarrassment of it all, but Chrome—she says—

“It’s a date.”)

*

M.M. hits a roadblock about halfway to the cafe.

This. Walk. Is. Awkward.

It’s not like she’d expected it to go any different, but she hadn’t noticed the complete lack of conversation until she’d finally gotten over her initial over-the-moon delight.

So she wracks her brain for something to say. Something to spark a conversation so it’s not just M.M. alone in her head.

_How was your day today?_

No, that sounds stupid.

_Do you like cats?_

Genuinely the most useless thought she’s ever had.

_Can I hold your hand?_

. . . No. _No._ (She kind of wants to, though.)

_Wonder what Mukuro’s up to._

Now, why would M.M. bring her day down by mentioning _him?_

“Have you been to a cat cafe before, Em?”

Oh, hey, that’s actually not that—hold on a minute.

“Once,” M.M. says, sparing a glance at Chrome and quickly looking away again when she makes eye contact. “It was okay.”

Chrome hums. “I’ve never been. It’s . . . something I’ve always wanted to try. I really love cats.” Somehow, that’s fitting. Chrome looks at M.M. like she wants to say something, but in the end shakes her head, instead mumbling, “I’m glad I get to experience this with you.”

It doesn’t sink in for a moment or two, but when it _does,_ M.M. laughs disbelievingly, giddiness returning to her all at once.

“I didn’t know you were so smooth!” M.M. says, playfully jostling Chrome’s shoulder.

“I’m—I’m not being smooth,” Chrome protests, stepping over a large crack in the sidewalk. “Just speaking my mind . . . ah.”

“Hm?”

“We’re here,” Chrome says, nudging M.M. and gesturing towards their destination.

The cat cafe is a tiny little building tucked in between a restaurant and a pet supply shop, red-and-gold sign proclaiming “Nya-mimori Cat Cafe” in bright, metallic characters.

M.M. goes in first, opening the door a crack and sticking her head in, smiling briefly when an employee catches sight of her and hurries over. It’s noticeably warmer inside the cafe than it had been outside, and M.M.’s shoulders droop slightly as she relaxes.

“Welcome!” the employee greets. “I’m so sorry, but our cat room is full right now—there’s a group leaving in fifteen minutes, though, if you’re willing to wait, and the cafe section isn’t too busy in case you’d like to order something in advance!”

“That’s fine,” M.M. says, looking toward Chrome for confirmation and nodding in satisfaction when it comes.

The employee leads her and Chrome to a cozy little cafe area—it’s separated from the cat area by a large glass window, though which the two of them can observe the goings-on of the adjacent room.

“Hmm,” she says, reading a sign propped up on top of the counter, while the employee withdraws back to the front room. “How long do you want to stay here? There’s a discount for two hours.”

Chrome makes a noncommittal noise. “Two is okay.”

“Okay,” M.M. says, hoping she doesn’t sound as awkward as she feels.

Their orders don’t take long to arrive; M.M. goes for a hot chocolate, and Chrome had requested for a frappe.

They’re sitting together in one of the cramped cafe booths, Chrome sipping at her drink while M.M. cups her hands around her own, leaning forward on the table and resting all her weight on her elbows.

Their seats are close enough together that M.M’s ankles knock together with Chrome’s every few seconds. If she were a more decent person, she’d apologize; as it is, she carefully keeps her gaze trained on the table, unable to make eye contact because she knows she’d turn bright red if she did, swinging her legs gently back and forth in hopes of brushing back against Chrome’s.

It goes on like this for a little while—neither of them make any attempt to begin a conversation, but unlike before, it feels comfortable.

When they’re let into the cat area of the cafe, Chrome is immediately swarmed—three cats come up to greet her, mewling loudly for her attention. M.M. is more content to hang back and watch.

She can have this little moment—staring at Chrome without feeling self-conscious about it, crossing her arms tightly and bouncing on her heels to relieve some of the nervous energy she’s feeling, shuffling forward a little when Chrome gravitates towards a bean bag in the corner of the room.

All three cats follow her there, practically throwing themselves across Chrome as soon as she sits down. She seems to not know what to do with the attention, if her slightly panicked expression is anything to go by.

M.M. chuckles, and Chrome turns a betrayed expression onto her.

“Why?” Chrome asks, scratching one of the cats behind its ear. “I’m in trouble . . . shouldn’t you be rescuing me right now?”

“Fine, fine,” M.M. acquiesces, crouching down and clicking her tongue to get the attention of the biggest cat. It sniffs her offered hand inquisitively, and seems to take a liking to her. It crawls off of Chrome and trills at M.M. lightly, butting its head against her palm. “But you owe me for this, and I charge interest.”

It’s a half-hearted jab, but Chrome laughs anyway. “Okay, Em.”

*

They’re well on their way home by the time M.M. musters up the courage to ask her question. At this point it’s probably a long shot—there’s, what, three minutes or so until they reach Chrome’s place?—but . . . she’d hate herself if she didn’t try.

“Hey, Chrome,” M.M. begins, dragging out Chrome’s name in an attempt to stay nonchalant.

“Yes?”

“Do you think . . . ”

“Mhm.”

“We could hold hands for a little bit?”

M.M.’s heart jackhammers in her chest during the five or so seconds it takes Chrome to respond. What if she says no? What if that was too soon? What if she didn’t even want—

“Sure,” Chrome says, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk and extending a hand. “I’d . . . really like that.”

Ah.

M.M. takes Chrome’s hand gently, slowly. Are her palms sweaty? Is she holding on too tight? Too loose? There’s no time to ponder. Chrome tugs her along again, this time walking about a half-pace ahead, and M.M. can’t find it in herself to complain.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr [takeshiyamamoto](https://takeshiyamamoto.tumblr.com)


End file.
